Alone
by mischieftobemanaged
Summary: She reaches into the giant bowls, filled with names. No, I think. No, no, no, no… Because I know this nightmare. It's come every night since my twelfth birthday. And so, even though only one of those thousands of slips of paper has my name on it, I know that it's the one being called. "Primrose Everdeen!"


Alone. That's the first thing that occurs to me as I look around the crowd of children, all older than me, all taller, swarming towards the Justice Building. A sea of faces, each one as forgettable as the next. I'm hyperventilating as I'm directed into a crowd of other twelve-year-old girls who don't make eye contact with me. I try to look around for my sister, but she is nowhere to be found.

On the stage stands Effie Trinket, hundreds of feet tall, wearing high heels like knives and an ever-changing Capitol outfit made up of swirling colors. She keeps yelling, "May the odds be ever in your favor! May the odds be ever in your favor!" I can't even hear myself think.

She reaches into the giant bowls, filled with names. _No_, I think. _No, no, no, no…_

Because I know this nightmare. It's come every night since my twelfth birthday. And so, even though only one of those thousands of slips of paper has my name on it, I know that it's the one being called.

"Primrose Everdeen!"

"No!" I wake with a start. My heart is pounding in my chest and I'm sobbing uncontrollably. I try to calm down, wiping the tears away from my face, but I can't shake that feeling of loneliness and pure terror as I'm called to my certain death. I turn to Katniss, hoping she might be awake to help me. She's not. The moonlight shines on her face, which is relaxed instead of her usual scowl. I attempt to lay back down and go back to sleep, but it's no use. I'm unable to contain my sobs.

"Prim?" My mother's soft voice drifts to my ears from her bed. I sit back up and without any more words, I invite myself into her bed. She takes me under her arm and I lean back against her threadbare pillows. Eventually, I slide back into sleep.

It is many hours later when my mother finally wakes me up gently. Sleeping late is encouraged on reaping day, but when I turn onto my side, I see that Katniss has already left.

My mother can clearly sense my nerves. She helps me into the warm tub to wash off. She's laid out some of Katniss' old clothes. They were still a bit big, but she pinned them up. They fit well, but when I sit down, my blouse comes out from my skirt in the back, as it always does. I don't bother to fix it now, as my mother has begun to braid my hair.

I stare at myself in the mirror as her nimble fingers twist my hair into two neat French braids. Blue eyes and blonde hair are unique to my mother and me here in the Seam of District 12, but at school, I look just like most of my friends from the village. When Katniss comes walking in, her braid in disarray and her face soiled with sweat and dirt from the woods, where she's obviously been, I still can't help but admire her exotic beauty as I always do.

I wait at the table for her to finish bathing and dressing. I know that Katniss must have taken my goat cheese this morning to eat in the woods, probably with Gale, her best and somewhat only friend. I don't know how she's able to eat. At age sixteen, her name is entered into the reaping twenty times and yet she's still able to joke and put me at ease. But I, with my one measly slip of paper and no tesserae, am still the one with the nightmares and the butterflies in my stomach.

I turn around to see my mother brushing out Katniss' long dark hair. My sister is wearing a lovely old dress of my mother's in a soft blue.

"You look beautiful," I say quietly.

"And nothing like myself," she chides, with her typical mocking attitude. I don't mind one bit; in fact, it helps calm my nerves a little bit to see that she's so relaxed about the whole ordeal. Because as nervous as I am to possibly be chosen as tribute, I'm even more scared for my sister.

Katniss gives me a hug. I feel her attempts to try to comfort me, but I don't think anyone could calm me down now. It's too close to reaping time.

"Tuck your tail in, little duck," she says, pushing the bottom of my blouse back into my skirt. I smile up at her and giggle a little bit.

"Quack," I joke lightly.

"Quack yourself," she laughs back. "Come on, let's eat."

We sit down to eat a light meal before the reaping. My mother has been cooking a delicious smelling stew for dinner, and Katniss brought home the fresh bread from the bakery and strawberries also to be saved for later. For now, we decide to eat the grainy bread we have and some milk from my goat, Lady. The three of us sit in silence, all merely picking at the meal.

Finally, my mother and Katniss usher me out the door to the square in the center of District 12. Just like in my nightmare, there really are hoards of people filling the streets. We finally make it to the square and leave our mother behind as she signs in at the roped off street designated for family members. It makes me more nervous than I've ever felt before, to say goodbye. I can't suppress than anxious voice inside my head, worried that it could have been my last time to really say farewell, see you later. Because once you get picked for the Games, chances are, there is no later.

Katniss keeps her hand rested on my back while we sign in. But sooner or later, I know that we must separate. There's hundreds of people pressing against me and pushing to get past, but I still feel the little squeeze she gives my shoulder before she heads off to the area for the sixteen-year-olds. I stay towards the back, with some girls my age. I know them all from school. Some of them are quiet naturally, others are loud and social, but today we all stand silently with the same lost and frightened look on our faces. It's easy to tell by looking at them who are the merchant children and who is from the Seam, but no matter if your name is in once or ten times, every one of us still has that same nagging feeling of anxiety.

I stare at the stage. I can hardly see over the tall heads in front of me, but it's easy to pick out Effie Trinket, with her Capitol chic appearance, bobbing around. The mayor stands up to speak. He reads off a speech I'm sure that everyone in this crowd has memorized by now. He talks of the uprising of the Districts, the annihilation of Thirteen, and the rules of the Games. In the past, standing with my mother, I could hardly pay attention because of how scared I was for Katniss. Now, racked with my own nerves, I hear every single word.

"It is both a time for repentance and a time for thanks," the Mayor sums up. He acknowledges the past victors from District 12, only one of which is still alive. Haymitch Abernathy, known to all for his compulsive drinking, stumbles onto the stage, howling incoherently at something that only he can see. He tries to wrap his arms around Effie Trinket, who narrowly avoids him on her way up to the podium.

"Happy Hunger Games!" she exclaims, in an attempt to excite the audience. "And may the odds be _ever _in your favor!" Her fervor fades slightly as she tries to convince us, and all of Panem who are watching the reaping here in 12, how honored she feels to be here. I don't buy it, and I know nobody else does either.

I wish I could see Katniss from here. No doubt she'll be rolling her eyes and making a funny, unintentional face like she always does when it comes to the Capitol. It would help calm my insides, which are practically leaping up my throat right now as Effie Trinket wraps up her speech.

She trots on her high heels over to the large glass bowl filled the names of every girl here. "Ladies first!" She gushes as she reaches a manicured hand into the bowl. I don't even have time to react before she's chosen a slip and is walking back to the podium.

She unfolds the tiny paper and suddenly, I know. This is just like my dream. So, it only slightly shocks me when she announces the name. My name.

"Primrose Everdeen!" She calls, proudly.

My brain goes numb, except for one word. _"Me. Me, me, me, me."_ My thoughts buzz as I try to remember where my feet are, what to do. I feel the eyes of my peers and hear the whispers of the unhappy adults, always displeased when a twelve-year-old like me is chosen. I wonder where my mother is among them.

I make short steps as I walk in the direction that I think is the podium. I can't remember. I feel light-headed and I have almost reached the stage when I hear her, and my senses return.

"Prim!" Katniss shrieks desperately from the crowd. "Prim!" I hear my name catch in her throat. She is on me in an instant, sweeping me off of the steps and behind her. My breath finally returns to me, but it is gone the second I hear her gasp, "I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"

It has always been the rule that volunteers can take the place of the reaped tribute, so long as they are twelve to eighteen and of the same gender. In some districts, they have a separate system to narrow down volunteers, as so many are confident and trained to win the Games. Here, in District 12, where the Hunger Games is essentially the death penalty, I'm sure that Katniss is the first.

The whispers in the square grow even louder. People are shocked. But not Effie Trinket.

"Lovely!" Effie says, her smile affixed to her face. "But I believe there is the small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and if one does come forth then we, um…" Nobody is sure of the protocol when it comes to volunteers.

"What does it matter?" The mayor asks. His eyes are locked on Katniss, recognizing her. Everyone knows who she is. When our father died in a mining accident, Katniss took over the family and our mother barely left the house for months. Her technically illegal hunting escapades with Gale are no secret to many in the town who have traded with her.

Effie Trinket is quiet. "What does it matter?" The mayor repeats. "Let her come forward."

No. No, she can't leave me. Even my strong sister, my idol, is no match for the Career tributes in the other districts. She will die in there. She can't die. Not for me. Without thinking about it, I lock my arms around her waist.

"No, Katniss! No! You can't go!" I'm screaming and crying like a child and I can't stop myself. I need her to calm me down, like she always does. I can't even form real sentences, I just keep screaming, "No!"

"Prim, let go," she says coldly. She's just trying to keep composed, I can tell from her icy face. Suddenly, I feel someone's arms around my waist just as tightly as mine are wrapped around hers. Sure that it's a Peacemaker, I fight ever so slightly before I am torn away from my sister. It isn't a Peacemaker, but Gale. He helps Katniss onto the stage, his face arranged in the same distant expression as hers. Then he carries me back into the crowd.

He doesn't go back to the area for the eighteen-year-olds, but towards my mother, who is watching frantically at the front of the mob. I continue to cry, unable to take comfort as he pats me on the back. He's breathing just as unsteadily as me, as if he has to think and force himself to take each one. When he places me down, my mother grabs at me from over the rope separating us. Gale doesn't return to the front, but stays with us.

Effie has introduced Katniss and is calling for a round of applause. At this time, the square is dead silent. Everyone, almost all at once, has raised their left middle three fingers to their lips and into the air. A sign that here in District 12 means goodbye to a loved one. I join them unwillingly.

Soon enough, Haymitch Abernathy breaks the solemn tone of the crowd by drunkenly plummeting off the stage. I can't bring myself to giggle at such a sight, but it relaxes most of the crowd. I'm still shaking.

Effie Trinket pulls the name of the boy tribute. Peeta Mellark, the baker's son, a townie the same age as Katniss. After he makes his way to the stage, the mayor begins another speech. I start to cry again without knowing it. My mother holds me tighter and Gale places a hand on my shoulder. When the time comes, the three of us will go together to say goodbye to her. My sister.

She and Peeta shake hands at the end of the speech. In some districts, this first handshake may be a sign of rivalry and a promise to fight fairly. In District 12, I always thought of it as more of a good luck and good-bye, I hope you live longer than I do. I can't think like that anymore.

They play the anthem of Panem one final time before Katniss and Peeta are swept off the stage by a slew of Peacekeepers. I panic again as the people start to leave and the crowd surrounds me before I hear my mother say, "Come on," into my ear. I duck under the rope and take her hand, following her as she heads in the direction of the Justice Building. Gale follows us.

Everyone stops to look at us as we walk purposefully against the crowd. I try to wipe the tears away from my swollen eyes, but I probably only manage to make them more red. Some stop to give us comforting, quick hugs or words of encouragement. But most people just stare pitifully.

I walk slightly behind my mother as we enter the huge, seemingly luxurious Justice Building. The Capitol officials glare at us before seeing me, and realizing our business. They lead us toward a corridor and direct us into the room where Katniss is waiting. Gale waits outside for his turn and my mother and I go in first.

She is sitting uncomfortably on a soft looking couch, running her hands up and down the fabric. The second I see her, I rush across the plush carpet and slide into her lap. Our mother sits down next to us. For a while, we sit there holding each other, a family, for possibly the last time. We don't have much time to visit, however, so Katniss quickly jumps into instructions for while she is gone.

"Listen," she starts. Her face goes from somber to business in an instant. She speaks almost entirely to our mother, directing only a few key points to me. "There isn't much time. You can get by with— without me, but you have to remember everything I tell you. Prim is not to take any tesserae. Gale will bring you the game you need, as well as any herbs you need, but you must describe them to him carefully because he doesn't know them like I do. He won't ask for money, but you should give him milk or medicine to thank him. You can earn enough money to get by with Lady's milk and cheese, Prim, and your medicine." She continues about the details of trading fairly, and tells me I have to keep going to school. I tighten my arms around her. It occurs to me as she says all this just how much she does that we haven't realized or appreciated over the past few years. How will we ever survive if she doesn't?

She turns to my mother and lets go of me to grab her arm. My mother looks suddenly alarmed.

"Listen to me. Are you listening to me?" Katniss says fiercely, staring into her eyes. My mother nods. "You can't leave again."

If my mother falls into the deep depression like she did after our father's death, all of Katniss' last wishes for us, right now, will be a waste. It was Katniss who saved us both from starving to death when it happened before, and even though I'm older now, I can't bring my mother back to me without her.

Katniss is screaming at my shy, embarrassed mother, who tries to defend herself meekly.

"I was ill," she whispers. "I could have treated myself if I had the medicine I have now."

"Then take it. And take care of her!" Katniss hisses, a bit harshly.

"I'll be all right, Katniss," I finally speak up. I turn to face my sister, placing my hands on her cheeks, trying to relax her, calm her down from her rage. "But you have to take care, too. You're so fast and brave. Maybe you can win." I add the last part hopefully. If I believe it enough, it could come true.

I do think my sister is fast and brave. I'm sure that she could survive forever in our woods, outside District 12. She's strong, both physically and mentally, much stronger than I could ever hope to be. I admire her with my whole heart. But we both know that it takes more to beat the vicious tributes of the Career districts.

"Maybe," Katniss says with a weak sense of faith. "Then we'd be as rich as Haymitch." Just by this statement, I can tell she isn't taking me seriously.

"I don't care if we're rich. I just want you to come home. You will try, won't you? Really, really try?" I am staring her down almost as fiercely as she was staring down our mother a few minutes ago. Sometimes, we can be alike.

"Really, really try. I swear it." She says steadily. I don't know if she's being entirely serious, but I have no time to continue to convince her. A Peacekeeper is back, and he orders us out without emotion. There is a minute of final hugs and "I love you's", and then we were gone.

My mother and I took the long walk back to the Seam slowly and silently. The other homes in the neighborhood were celebrating with relief as per tradition, but we go straight to our dark, empty home to prepare to watch the recap of the reapings across Panem.

Watching the other reapings only brings back the sting of the whole day. As I watch the hoards of children pour into the square of every district, richer districts, where tesserae are as rare to them as volunteers are to us, I think about how the odds were very in my favor. But it hadn't mattered. Seeing the twenty-two other competitors picked out of hundreds, the reactions of their families and friends, I realize that it doesn't matter what the odds are, the hurt is still the same.

Climbing into our empty bed that night, the hurt rushes to me all at once. She may never come back. After these next few weeks, I may have to support our family, go to school, care for our mother, and face six more reapings all by myself. Alone.


End file.
